


Meandering

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Elrond, Female Lindir, Ficlet, Fluff, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond and Lindir go for a sleigh ride.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wirrwarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wirrwarr/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for glowinthedarkfindel’s “Sleigh/Carriage ride and Elrondir being cute girlfriends” request and bingo fill on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/153917135000/my-holiday-themed-bingo-under-cut-you-can-make).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Elladan and Elrohir bring the horses around, each clutching a set of long reins and chattering lightly to one another, while the horses nuzzles at their shoulders and plod on through the snow. Elrond can feel Lindir fidget nervously at her side, already rocking subtly from foot to foot. Normally, sandals would do—they haven’t the skill to run through the trees like their Woodland kin, but they are still _elves_ , with a lighter touch than Elrond’s other guests would understand. But just in case they’re stranded in the mountains, she’s suggested boots, and Lindir, always eager to be prepared, quickly complied. They’re both wrapped in thick robes and woolen trousers beneath, fully ready for the cold of the season, but as Lindir lets out an almost inaudible whimper, Elrond wonders if she’ll ever be _truly_ ready to leave this valley.

“We will only be gone for an hour, perhaps two,” Elrond reminds her. 

Lindir looks sharply at Elrond, brows cutely knit together, and mumbles, “But my duties... it is the middle of the day...”

“I am sure Erestor can handle the place in your absence,” Elrond assures her, neglecting to mention that Erestor did so for centuries before Lindir’s birth, whenever Elrond herself was unavailable. Lindir, for all the open beauty of her songs, is an insular creature by nature, and she eyes the oncoming horses with trepidation. By the time Elladan and Elrohir have approached them, Lindir’s mitten-covered hand has found its way into the safety of Elrond’s palm. She squeezes it reassuringly. 

She tells her twin sons, “Thank you,” and guides Lindir around the side to the sleigh that follows. Elladan and Elrohir bring the reins back around to attach to the front—the horses know where to go and likely won’t need direction—then disappear back into the buildings, still too wrapped up in their own discussion to pause much for their old woman and her young girlfriend. 

Lindir brings one crimson-coloured mitten up to her delicate lips, pausing as though in thought, then timidly asks, “Um, could you...?”

Elrond scoops Lindir up around her slender waist and easily hikes her up—she squeaks and puts one boot on the railing, but quickly catches on and scrambles inside, Elrond’s hands there to brace her. Elrond opted for gloves for just this purpose—she assumed some assistance would be required. She follows up afterwards without much difficulty and takes a seat on the wooden bench at the back, Lindir settling next to her. There’s just enough room for the two of them, the front and the reins an arm’s length before them. Elrond waits for Lindir to shift and get comfortable, then gives the reins a short tug to let the horses know it’s time to begin. They flick their tails and start forward, lurching the sleigh, and Lindir makes a fluttering noise and clutches tightly to Elrond’s arm. 

Placing her hand atop both of Lindir’s, Elrond sighs, “We really must take you riding more often.”

Lindir looks up with big, pleading eyes, and practically moans, “Oh, no, that is really not necessary, my lord...”

Just in case, Elrond checks, “We can still cancel this, if you like.”

But Lindir shakes her head, displacing the long, straight locks of chestnut hair that perfectly frame her face, and says, “No, please, ah—forgive me, I am just...”

A tad neurotic. But Elrond loves her still and leans in to kiss her forehead, hopefully communicating through it that Elrond understands and doesn’t mind. Lindir makes a contented noise and sighs, settling back into place. She still keeps her arms around Elrond’s. 

They pass through the frosted lanes of Imladris in relative silence, Elrond enjoying the slow-rolling view of her home, and Lindir hopefully doing the same. Each elf they pass spares them a smile—this is one of the more enjoyable luxuries of the season. Lindir often hunches her slender shoulders, smiling sheepishly at whomever they see—Elrond suspects she still feels somewhat self-conscious, out riding with the lord of the land. But Elrond knows that no one in Imladris would begrudge Lindir this, especially not those that know Elrond, and know how _happy_ Lindir makes her.

Lindir sucks in a breath as they drift through the gates, sloping down a gradual hill into the winding valley, the open air alight with the glowing reflections of the sun. White snow glistens along every surface; each arc of rock in the mountains, each swooping branch in the trees, each tendril of the river below, adds to the glimmering radiance. It’s a beautiful sight, and they gradually delve deeper into it, past the bustle of a thriving community and into the pure peace of nature. 

Lindir, like Elrond, has always seemed to enjoy the simpler things in life. Peace is their greatest prize. She seems to settle into it the farther they go, relaxing at Elrond’s side, until her arm feels more there out of habit than a gripping need for support. They both let their gazes stray into the open view, ephemeral for the season, though Lindir murmurs over the slow clop off the horses, “What if they run?”

“Then I will be quite surprised,” Elrond muses, for she’s yet to know a horse displeased with her kin—even Estel’s, a truly wild spirit, always returns. “But I will carry you back, if I must.”

Lindir giggles, her youthful face lighting in a pretty smile. Elrond allows the laugh, though she’s serious. Then the first snowflake lands squarely on Lindir’s nose, and Elrond lifts one gloved finger to gently wipe it away. 

It’s only a light snow that begins to fall around them, hardly enough to obscure the view, and for a time, Elrond enjoys picking flecks of it out of Lindir’s silk-soft hair, Lindir occasionally returning the favour. They huddle closer against the cold the breeze brings, until Lindir lays her head on Elrond’s shoulder, sighing contentedly and canceling any space left between them. Elrond enjoys the weight of her and wonders if it might have been wise to bring something hot to drink. Elrond will last, but Lindir is smaller, lighter, with lesser stamina and greater worries. Elrond acutely feels that when she notices that Lindir’s gone from staring ahead to gazing up. Her pink lips part, cheeks turned rosy in the frost, brow knit as she eyes the wispy clouds. The snow has begun to fall in larger pellets, but Elrond wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

For Lindir, she asks, “Do you wish to go back?”

Lindir hesitates. That’s enough of a reason for Elrond to reach for the reins; a single flick of them halts both horses. They tromp about in place instead, nosing at the snow and one another, while Elrond rubs Lindir’s arm and waits for Lindir to decide.

Lindir glances back between them, along the winding path to the distant silhouette of Imladris. Then Lindir rests her chin on Elrond’s shoulder and mutters, “I do not wish to relinquish time with you...”

“We may spend time together at home,” Elrond says, though she knows that when they return, Lindir will be inevitably swept up in other things—they currently have four different guests from three different lands, each of which would like their own holidays celebrated. Elrond has granted them all, though perhaps would not have if she’d known that Lindir would take it upon herself to prepare everything so thoroughly. As Elrond’s assistant, she’s become invaluable.

As Elrond’s love, she’s irreplaceable. She chews her bottom lip between her teeth, before murmuring, “Perhaps... perhaps in a moment?”

Elrond lifts a brow, wondering at the delay, until Lindir leans forward to press their lips together, instantly banishing the cold. Elrond returns the chaste kiss with a swell of adoration. Lindir nuzzles the cold tip of her nose against Elrond’s after, and it does help to warm them up. She mumbles over Elrond’s lips, “Forgive me; I would not normally be so forward on duty, but...”

“But out here, where there is no one to catch you...” Elrond provides, only to add cheekily, “except your lord.” Lindir flushes a velvet pink, but her smile doesn’t waver.

She lifts one mitten to brush more snow out of Elrond’s hair and sighs, “You know... I think I would like to finish this ride, now that I have you all to myself.”

Elrond presses a tender kiss to Lindir’s forehead, flicks the reins, and settles back into the warm embrace that awaits her.


End file.
